Nothing But Air
by DreamingToBePetra
Summary: A series of flashbacks triggered by events in the show... What was it like for Michael and Lincoln growing up alone? And what was it that led them to Fox River?


Nothing But Air

"When I was young, I couldn't sleep at night because I thought there was a  
monster in the closet. But my brother told me there wasn't anything in the  
closet but fear. And fear wasn't real. He said it wasn't made of anything  
just…air. Not even that. He said you just have to face it. You just have to  
open that closet and the monster would disappear."

"Brother sounds like a smart man."

"He is."

Later in his cell Michael thought again of the night when his brother gave  
him the strength to conquer his fears. It was one of those rare moments  
during their mother's sickness when Michael felt completely safe.

Not because he could open the closet door, but because his brother was  
always there to open the door for him if he needed. It was one of the only  
reliable things in his childhood. When it was only a matter of facing fear  
and not of surviving monsters.

* * *

"Lincoln! Lincoln?" 

Lincoln sighed heavily and turned back down the hall. He didn't want to be  
leaving, but he'd promised his mother that he'd keep up his meetings with  
Patrick. The fact that he had to leave Michael alone was not the only  
downside to keeping his promise but it was the worst.

"Lincoln, I'm scared." Michael was sitting on his pillow with one of  
Lincoln's flannels wrapped around his body. Because he was still small for  
his age it went nearly double around him.

Lincoln moved over in the dim light to sit next to Michael. His eyes  
flickered over Michael's face as he reached over to ruffle his hair. "What's  
up, Mikey? There's nothing to be scared of."

Michael leaned a bit into his brother's hand and then his eyes darted over  
to the closet door. "I'm scared Lincoln."

"What's there to be scared of? You know I won't let anything happen to you."

"But what about the monsters, Linc? How can you keep me safe from the  
monsters?"

Michael wasn't an irrational child. He could be difficult sometimes, when  
the stimuli became more than he could take, but because of the LLI he had  
never been much for whimsical things. His logic made a fear of monsters all  
the more disconcerting. Lincoln wasn't sure what to do, but he needed to do  
something.

"What monsters, Mikey? There's nothing in here but 5 pounds of Legos and  
your math homework."

"In the closet, Linc. They're in the closet."

Taking a deep breath, Lincoln racked his brain. Times like these were when  
he wished that he had a dad to turn to; even more he wished that their mom  
wasn't in the hospital again. And then it clicked. The thing that made all  
his nights out doing strange things with Patrick bearable. It was  
your nerves that made things hard. The consequences that might come, the  
things that were lurking behind closed doors, the pain that would follow a  
mistake. Nerves.

"Mike," He paused again. "Mike, there's nothing in the closet. I can prove  
it to you. But you know what's better?"

"What?"

"Knowing what is in the closet."

Michael's eyes widened considerably. "What's inside the closet?" The  
trepidation in his voice had Lincoln kicking himself, but he pressed on.

"The only thing in your closet is your fear. That means you control it.  
That means you get to say what you do about it. Watch this." Lincoln got up  
and knocked on the closet door. "Hello…any monsters in there?"

An abbreviated giggle escaped Michael's throat. "Monster's can't talk,  
Lincoln. And you said it was just fear."

"I did, but you have to decide what to do about the fear. So, what are we  
going to do about the closet?"

"What does fear look like? We have to open the door, right?"

"I think it would be a good idea, do you want to come over here and find  
out?"

Michael started to shake his head but at a look from Lincoln squared his  
shoulders and wiggled off the bed. "It's good if I open it myself, right,  
Lincoln?"

Lincoln ruffled Michael's hair again. "It's brave if you open it yourself,  
but I'll always be there if you want me to do it for you."

Michael shook his head and reached nervously for the door. Lincoln dropped  
into a squat next to his brother and whispered into his ear, "Remember  
Mikey, nothing but fear."

The door swung open in front of the two brothers and a belt clinked against  
the door knob it was hanging against. "Linc, it's just air and my dress  
clothes. I don't see any fear."

"That's the point. Your fear isn't anything either. All you have to do is  
open the door and you'll remember that. Fear isn't anymore than air."

"But, Linc that means that fear isn't real. That it's nothing but air."

"That's right, Mikey. You gonna be okay, then? Need me to help you look at  
anymore air?"

"Nope, Lincoln. I'm okay."

"Okay. Back into bed. I have stuff to do and you need to sleep."

Michael crawled back into bed and fluffed his pillow. Lincoln was just  
turning into the hall when Michael's voice stopped him again.

"Lincoln?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"Can you close the closet anyway?"

"Sure, Mike, but remember, nothing but air."

"Not even that."

* * *

Patrick was scanning the street in his car waiting for Lincoln when he  
finally exited his apartment building. When he saw Lincoln step off the  
curb he slumped deliberately in his seat and affected a casual attitude as  
he cracked his neck and lit a cigarette. 

"You're late."

"So, what if I am, you could have just gone home."

"Now, what would you're mother think of that. After all those conversations  
we've had. What would you do without me?"

Lincoln's faced hardened with disgust but he didn't say anything, merely  
clicked his seatbelt and waited.

"We're going to try a little B&E. See if you've improved your choice of  
merchandise. If you could ever make this worthwhile, maybe we'd have a  
reason to try something a little more complex."

Lincoln stifled a barking laugh. Patrick was a first-class bastard, but he  
had some kind of hold over Lincoln's mother and he was footing her medical  
bills. That meant Lincoln had to be there every night. Had to make the  
time and take the effort to learn these things that Patrick insisted he  
know. Didn't mean he had to like it. And it most certainly didn't mean that  
he had to make it easy on him.

"You ask me to get something identifiable from an occupied bedroom. I do.  
If you have a problem with that, get the stuff yourself."

"You should really consider what we do a privilege. You're going to thank  
me someday." Patrick started the engine and eased down the road. "You need  
every defense against the world you can get, kid, and I'm it." These words  
were the type that should have comforted the thirteen year old, but they  
were delivered with a sneer that set his teeth on edge.

"Let's get this over with."

* * *

Three hours later, armed with a post-it note from the bathroom of the  
house's occupants, Lincoln emerged angry and tired. It was one thing to  
enter the low-rent apartments and run-down motels that Patrick usually took  
him too, but when they went to the suburbs it always made Lincoln angry. 

A couple of minutes later he turned down the alley where Patrick was  
supposed to be waiting for him only to be ambushed from behind. It had been  
three years since he started these clandestine outings with good ol'Patrick, the  
friend of the family that they never talked about, that Michaelwasunaware even existed  
Since then Patrick had either attacked him or set himup more than a dozen times.

Each time only Lincoln's blind rage at being  
attacked saved him from serious injury. Each time the night ended with  
Patrick handing him a new set of clothes and placing the old blood-spattered  
ones in a trash bag.

Lincoln responded this time as he knew to do, with no regard to his own  
well-being, but rather with the intention of causing the most damage as  
quickly as possible. It took five minutes of dodging and more than a few  
truly underhanded moves for Lincoln to escape down the aisle only to find  
Patrick propped against a brick wall clapping slowly and with great  
satisfaction.

"This is the one thing I don't really have to teach you, kid. That is one  
amazing instinct for self-preservation you've got. I wonder how threatened  
you would need to feel before you'd cease to have limits. Huh. Let's get  
you home. It's a school night remember." Patrick chuckled again because it  
was already 12 midnight and it was an hour drive back to Lincoln's  
apartment.

Lincoln bit his lip and blinked back the last tears of his childhood.  
Walking past Patrick toward the car he slapped the post-it note against the  
car door and then moved around to the passenger seat and stripped off his  
bloody shirt.

* * *

On the drive home Lincoln thought about what Patrick had said. About his  
instinct for self-preservation. It might be true, but Lincoln didn't want  
to know how far he'd go. Was truly afraid of the answer. Because it wasn't  
his own life he struggled so desperately to keep on these nights. It was his  
responsibilities that made him strong, and somewhere deep inside of himself  
he knew that there was nothing that he wouldn't do, not if it meant living  
up to the adoration in Michael's gaze. Not if it meant following through on  
his promises to his mother. And that unspoken, unwanted realization was what  
really changed Lincoln that night. 

When Patrick pulled up in front of Lincoln's building, Lincoln's sprang from  
the car and walked away without a backward glance. There was no need for  
conversation, tomorrow would be like today which was like yesterday. The  
only variance was what unpleasant things Patrick would demand he do. But he  
would do them because for some reason this was a responsibility and Lincoln  
knew the kind of damage that could be done when a man was too cowardly to  
face his responsibilities. Lincoln would rather sell his soul to the devil  
than wind up like his father.

After climbing an interminable amount of stairs, Lincoln unlocked his  
apartment door and walked back down the hallway to Michael's open door. His  
brother had opened the closet door sometime during the night and the sight  
of Michael sprawled across his bed in unconsciousness brought a  
smile to Lincoln's lips. He stood there for a time contemplating the  
conversation they'd had earlier. Monsters and Fear and Air.

Lincoln knew that there were monsters in the world. But then and there,  
standing in the dark, he made a promise to himself, one he desperately hoped  
he'd be able to keep. He swore that Michael would never see the monsters he

had, would never stand in fear of something and know it could destroy him.

Michael was going to live in a world where Monsters and Fear really were  
nothing but air.

* * *

The clink of the guard's keys sounded in the hallway outside of Lincoln  
Burrows death row cell. The inmate in question stared into the inky  
blackness trying to imagine what the stars must look like. Lincoln was not a  
man to be trifled with but neither was he a heartless man. The guards often  
commented on the oddities of a man who inspired so much fear who also  
managed to make polite conversation and share stories about his kid. 

However, on this night the mild-mannered death-row inmate was nowhere to be  
found. Rather a violent and broken man mourned the loss of one of his only  
great accomplishments. No matter how badly, how desperately Lincoln wanted  
to be wrong, he knew that Michael had finally met a monster and this one was  
real.

Lincoln Burrows felt agonized with each breath and he continued to breathe  
because he knew he deserved the pain. Tonight he would dream of retribution  
and destruction, he would dream of violently destroying John Abruzzi and  
everything he held to be valuable. But until his dreams took him, he would  
try to picture the stars in the sky and do his best to believe that Michael  
was out under them, free and far away from the monsters that Lincoln never  
wanted him to see.

And then for a brief moment as he drifted off, he smiled, because even if  
the monster was real, Michael's fear wasn't. It had no control, and for that  
Lincoln could not be sorry.

tbc...


End file.
